book review: The Punch Escrow

I'm not much for fiction. If it's not by Greg Cox or Stephen King, then I typically prefer non-fiction. That way, I figure, even if the book turns out to be a bore or disappointment, at least I've learned something.

Every once in a while, though, I make an exception. Usually, I'm disappointed in a manner that, in my mind at least, confirms my usual preferences. But sometimes -- rarely, but sometimes -- an author surprises me with an entertaining read.

The latest example is The Punch Escrow, by first-time novelist Tal M. Klein.

The story takes place in a future where teleportation is the most common -- and widely considered the most safe -- form of long-distance transportation. One day, a series of accidents and highly unusual circumstances leads to an unprecedented event, when the main character, software engineer Joel Byram, is accidentally duplicated in what should have been a routine teleportation. Now there are two Joels, one still in New York City, the other successfully teleported to Costa Rica, and they both become pawns in international intrigue between the powerful company that controls teleportation, and the various fringe groups opposed to the technology.

Now, take out some of the details, and pare it down to the bare bones of the concept, and it may sound familiar. Transporter accidents are a common subject for various incarnations of Star Trek. Klein makes sure to address this source of inspiration, as Joel and his wife are Star Trek fans, and sometimes (at least in the beginning, before things get too hectic for pop culture references) allude to the show as a frame of reference. (As fans of the original series, Joel and his wife never mention the most obvious Trek parallel to their situation, the Next Generation episode where Commander Riker is duplicated; just like Riker in that episode, both Joels share equally valid claims as the "real" Joel Byram.)

This is a good book in a number of ways. The technological advancements depicted in Klein's vision of the future are easy to accept and understand as a daily part of the characters' lives. The characters are believable and likable (except the villains, who, of course, aren't supposed to be likable), and speak in a naturalistic manner that makes them seem instantly familiar. There is more than an element of humor to the proceedings, but not enough to turn the book into a spoof. And the action is exciting.

According to the front cover, the book is "now in development at Lionsgate as a major motion picture." I'd like to see the movie whenever it comes out, but I doubt it could improve on the book, which I thoroughly enjoyed from start to finish. My main concern: How would they cast main character Joel Byram? He has to be believable as an action hero at times, an everyman at others, a loser at still others. Go too far in any one direction, and the casting might suffer in the other two.

Byram's wife Sheryl, the other main character, is equally multifaceted in the story. She's a brilliant scientist, a wisecracker worthy of the best screwball comedies, and a sexy woman -- at least in Joel's eyes; it's intriguing that her sexuality is never a defining aspect of her identity, but rather an indicator of just one aspect of her husband's love for her.

Now, some of you may be turned off by science fiction. It's a genre that just isn't for everybody. I say, make an exception. This book is so well-written that it deserves a look.

Six Problems With Being an Adult With a Learning Disability

Six Problems With Being an Adult With a Learning Disability

1. Learning disabilities in adults are often awkward to explain, and almost invariably impossible to define or prove. Nowadays, learning disabilities are more understood by both specialists and the general public. Ironically, though, this wealth of information is not useful to people like me. The first time I stumbled upon a website listing learning disabilities by name and providing descriptions of each one, I quickly found an all-too-brief moment of enlightenment and satisfaction. “Ah, so THAT’S what I have!” But as I kept reading, so many of the entries seemed to apply to me. Surely, they couldn’t all be right. I have come to the conclusion that self diagnosis is neither simply difficult nor simply unwise. It’s flat-out impossible. Here’s the thing: I know I have a learning disability because, when I was a young child, I got a sympathetic lecture from a psychologist about how I wasn’t stupid, I just “have a couple of crossed wires” in my brain. As a public school student, I got free tutoring, and extra time for exams. By the way, a quick side-note: I don’t know if it’s still this way, but when I was in school, “extra time” for exams was the educational system’s ridiculous “one size fits all” solution for all learning disabilities. It certainly wasn’t  either appropriate or helpful for me. All extra time ever meant for me was staring at a blank paper a little longer. But I digress. The point is, I was told very clearly that I had a learning disability, but never given specific terminology. As a child, specifics didn’t seem to matter to anyone, but in adulthood, the lack of specifics is a recurring source of frustration. The general public may be vaguely aware that learning disability is spread across a spectrum, but we, as a society, like labels. If you’re going to be honest with someone and say, “I have a learning disability,” you better have either Asperger’s, autism, or dyslexia. Because those are the three everybody knows. They can nod their heads in sympathy and understanding and say, “yeah, my cousin’s kid has that” or whatever. What you decidedly don’t want to do is say, “no it’s not dyslexia, it’s, I don’t know, something else, no one ever really told me what it is exactly.” This revelation is invariably met with either disbelief (and just why would anyone ever lie about such a thing, anyway?), or, even more oddly, a look I’m all too familiar with, the “I’m not impressed” look. As if the person is thinking, “autism is fine, but take your pathetic unnamed disability and peddle your wares somewhere else.”
2. Intelligence actually makes things more complicated. I’m not saying I wish I was dumber; I enjoy the intellectual gifts I’ve been given. But in terms of getting people to believe you.... These days, it’s common knowledge that a learning disability doesn’t necessarily indicate general stupidity. (Again, dyslexia is the most commonly cited example.) But for the vast majority of people, this knowledge exists only on an intellectual, theoretical level. On a deeper level — the level of instinctual belief — people have a hard time reconciling the ideas that a single person can both be intelligent in many ways, and still have a learning disability. This is a frequent problem for children, who are told misguided things like, “your A+ in history and reading prove that you can get better grades in math and science if you just try harder!” And for adults, this problem never really goes away, it just presents itself through the disbelief of others. “You can’t have a learning disability, you’re so creative/ insightful/ knowledgable!” is an invalid logic I’ve heard too many times to count.
3. You develop a reputation for being irresponsible. This is a particularly cruel aspect of having a learning disability. I often forget things, and I sometimes try to make light of the “premature Alzheimer’s” I frequently display. But the truth is, I hate this about myself. Because chronically poor memory affects those around you. Employers don’t have interest or time for excuses. Feelings get hurt when you forget birthdays. And the humiliating, maddening admonishment, “how many times do I have to tell you” gets old fast, but repeated more times than even a Sesame Street Muppet vampire can count.
4. You feel stupid almost every day. Yes, yes, I know I already observed that learning disability doesn’t equal stupidity. I know this to be true, but still. How do you think I feel when I forget something important? Or when I look at a clock and, at the age of 42, still can’t figure out how to tell what time it is? (Ah, but I finally figured out how to tie my shoes when I was in college, so maybe there’s hope for the clock thing!) Or when I’m listening to someone or reading something, and it occurs to me that I understand only enough to understand that “I should be understanding all of this, what’s stopping this from making sense?” There is no worse feeling than the realization that something is obvious to everyone else but still a mystery to you despite your exposure to the exact same information.
5. You are the only person who can never walk away from the problem. As I’ve observed above, a learning disability can be an understandable frustration for the other people in your life. But all of those other people have an out. They can simply walk away at any given time, in a variety of ways. An employer can fire you. A roommate can move out. A relative can storm off into the other room, leaving you to feel miserable, misunderstood, and stupid. But you’re always still you. You can’t divorce yourself. You can’t leave yourself in the next room. You are the one person who will always, every moment of your life, struggle with your limitations. People saying “how many times do we have to go over this” tend to forget that— or, perhaps in such moments of their own frustration, they don’t care at the time.
6. Job applications and interviews are even more of a nightmare than they are for other people. Why? Two reasons: Applications, especially online applications, frequently include some variation of the question “is there any mental or physical limitation that would prevent you from doing this job?” These, at least, sometimes provide the option “I choose not to answer.” But the in-person interview equivalent to this question is the common “what’s your worst quality?” Everyone hates that question. It should be outlawed just on general principles. For people with a learning disability, such questions raise a stressful dilemma. Should I mention that I tend to forget things? Or that sometimes I don’t understand something for no explainable reason? That I sometimes find myself shaking my head and saying “uh-huh” in entirely faked understanding because I am so clueless that I can’t even figure out what questions to ask? Obviously, no, if you want the job, you can’t be upfront about any of these things. The dilemma is only a moral one for otherwise honest people. But you’re applying/ interviewing because you need a job. So you click on “I choose not to answer,” or give some cliched response about your biggest weakness is that you push yourself too hard. Everyone knows that this is the answer that will be given, but the question inexplicably remains in every recruiter’s repertoire. And the whole time, you’re thinking, “I hope if they hire me, I don’t forget anything important, I hope I understand everything they tell me. Please don’t let me embarrass myself! Maybe it won’t happen this time!” But the truthful response to these desperate wishes is that eventually, you will, you won’t, you will, and it will. Eventually. Because you can’t walk away from yourself.